The Girl Who Fell

by Violet Grace

  Two more women dressed in the same skin-tight brown leather armour as Jules approach us as we enter the building. The sunlight catches their knuckledusters and reminds me just how much trouble I’m in. I notice the same seal on their bodysuits: a circle encasing a unicorn in raised gold. They drop to one knee and bow their heads the same way Jules did.

  ‘Your Highness,’ they chorus.

  I look behind me to see who they are bowing to before realising it’s me. Again.

  ‘Um. You can get up,’ I mumble, embarrassed.

  The two women exchange uncertain glances.

  ‘You can stand,’ I say, more loudly.

  They rise, step to the side and flank Jules and me as we continue through the palace. I scan the ceiling and walls for CCTV cameras that I may need to avoid on my way out of here. But I don’t see any signs of surveillance equipment, which only adds to my anxiety. I can’t dodge it if I can’t see it. At regular intervals, I’m met by more guards dressed the same way; each stiffens and bows as we pass.

  Surrounded by all these guards, I figure that making a run for it is out of the question. I could hide, because this place is enormous. The ceiling looks like something from the Vatican, but instead of angels, or Adam reaching for the hand of God, the ceiling is adorned with a pack of unicorns, all of them bowing before a woman clothed only in her flowing red hair. I stare at the woman’s face. She looks like me, but older. And stronger. Her green eyes sparkle with power and determination.

  We enter another room with another domed, painted ceiling. The two women flanking us peel off, pulling the doors shut, leaving Jules and me standing in a cavernous space, empty but for some fancy tapestries hanging on the walls. Compared to what I’ve seen of the rest of London, this building is an oasis of order and luxury.

  I wipe my sweaty palms down the sides of my dress. My mind conjures every worst-case scenario of what’s going to happen to me when this Chancellor guy arrives and works out they’ve made a right royal stuff-up and got a fake ‘Her Highness’ by mistake. Jules must sense my rising panic because her expression changes from rigid detachment to curious assessment. Her head tilts slightly as if she’s not just looking at me, but listening to me too. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it.

  I try to calm my breathing by focusing on the painting on the ceiling. It’s the woman from the other painting, with the green eyes and long red hair. But this time she has wings – huge iridescent wings that stretch out on either side of her. And in her arms she cradles a baby.

  A door at the far end of the room clicks open and a man waddles in and bows. It’s not a full-body bow like the others have done, more an exaggerated nod of the head and a sweep of his arm.

  I look at the man and then at Jules, and then, as recognition dawns, my head whips back to the man. My mouth is dry and I’m too confused to speak. I’ve seen him before.

  ‘Your Highness, what a great honour it is to see you,’ he says. ‘Again.’

  chapter 5

  ‘The museum. This morning,’ I say, placing him.

  It’s the weird old guy who was staring at me in the Medieval and Renaissance Room. He’s changed his outfit to something even more flamboyant than before, but he’s quite obviously the same person. He looks ridiculous, swishing his long black cloak against his knee-length britches as he approaches. His embroidered coat is so unnecessarily puffy it wouldn’t be out of place in the court of King Henry VIII.

  ‘Are you stalking me?’ I’m surprised by the anger in my voice.

  ‘Stalking?’ he asks, his jowls wobbling. ‘In a sense, yes, I suppose I have been stalking you. But that’s an altogether too sinister way of putting it.’ His face softens as he regards me with a mixture of puzzlement and pity – and, if I’m not mistaken, a hint of pride. His smile spreads like warm butter on hot toast and I’m amazed to see it reaches all the way to his eyes.

  ‘I was at the V&A this morning to personally oversee your extraction. After all, I have known you since you were born. You even vomited on me once after a feed, right here on my left shoulder.’ He chuckles fondly.

  A lump of longing forms in my throat. He’s obviously mistaken and is reminiscing about someone else. Still, I find myself wishing that it were me. Nobody’s ever told stories about me as a baby. I’ve come to terms with my past, but sometimes I still fight back tears when I think about my parents and what could have been.

  ‘I am the Chancellor,’ he says, as if he’s in a pantomime.

  I get the feeling that not only am I supposed to know who he is, I am also expected to understand that he’s important. I’m going to have to disappoint him on both counts.

  He dismisses Jules with scarcely a glance. ‘Leave us.’

  Jules nods in acknowledgement and turns to leave.

  ‘She stays,’ I blurt. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want to be left alone with this guy. Admittedly, I don’t know much about Jules either, but I figure at least she does what I ask. And once the Chancellor works out he’s got the wrong girl, I may need Jules – and her bike – to get out of here.

  Jules looks unsure about the consequences of defying the Chancellor’s orders. The Chancellor’s eyes also widen. Clearly he’s used to getting what he wants.

  ‘As you wish, Your Highness,’ he says. He smiles obligingly, but I sense a wariness that wasn’t there before.

  Interesting. Whoever they think I am, clearly she has the authority to overrule the Chancellor.

  I relax a little. ‘Why have you brought me here?’

  ‘Because you are in great danger,’ he says simply.

  A shiver surges up my spine as the icy feeling of darkness I experienced on the bike hits me again.

  ‘Please. Sit.’ He gestures to a chair that I swear was not there a moment ago. It’s covered in royal-blue velvet, punctuated by bronze studs that make little balloons in the fabric. Its arms are stuffed so full it looks like they are reaching out to hug me.

  The Chancellor lifts his cane, flicks it, and golden light shoots out from the top. A table and two other chairs materialise before my eyes.

  A yelp escapes me and I end up half-cowering behind the chair.

  Lightning fast, Jules is at my side, taking my arm with a look of concern. ‘Your Highness?’

  A shimmer of sparkling dust hovers around the furniture for a moment and then dissipates. On the table is a crystal vase with the most enormous peonies I’ve ever seen. Each flower is about the size of my face, overshadowing the pitcher of water and a set of tumblers at the other end of the table.

  I can’t trust or comprehend what I’m seeing.

  Jules ushers me to my chair and I all but fall into it, sinking deep down into the cushioned base. Despite its comfort, I’m on edge – and not just because it’s not the sort of chair you can spring out of to make a quick getaway.

  Jules pours water into one of the tall tumblers, hands it to me and then returns to standing to attention at the side of the table. I try to regain my composure, still staring at the table, trying to work out if it’s real and how it got there. I run my fingers around the top of the glass. Yep, real crystal. As solid in my hand as any other glass I’ve held.

  The Chancellor wears an amused smile.

  ‘You said I was danger,’ I say, slightly breathless. ‘From what?’

  ‘It’s not so much a what as a who,’ he says gravely, all trace of amusement gone. ‘To properly answer your question, Your Highness, you first need to know some background that I am beginning to suspect you have forgotten. You are in Trinovantum.’

  Huh? I reach into my pocket for my phone, keen to see what Google Maps has to say about this Trinovantum place. But my pocket is empty. My phone must be back at the V&A.

  ‘Trinovantum is a city in Iridesca, realm of the Fae,’ the Chancellor explains as he wedges himself into the chair on the opposite side of the table.

  ‘The Fae?’

  ‘Fairies, unicorns and what humans patronisingly refer to as “enchanted folk”,’ the
Chancellor explains.

  ‘Hold on a tick,’ I say, unable to keep a smirk from my face. ‘You’re saying I’m in fairyland? And fairyland just happens to look the same as London? Well, aside from the trees. And all the buildings do look … funny.’

  ‘Funny?’ says the Chancellor, raising his eyebrows. ‘It’s quite true that Iridesca and the city you know as London are similar – very similar indeed. But the world you think of as yours is of a different realm, one that has many names, but which we call Volgaris. The physical environ of humans. You might say that London Iridesca, which we call Trinovantum, and London Volgaris parallel one another, sharing the same longitude and latitude, as well as the same atmosphere. But they overlay one another as a glove fits a hand. And just like a glove and a hand, they are similar, but also quite distinct. One is far more intricate and sophisticated than the other.’

  I’m in no doubt as to which the Chancellor thinks is more sophisticated. His smugness seems a bit rich to me, given that we – in ‘Volgaris’ – haven’t blasted our museums into rubble.

  ‘For the most part,’ he goes on, ‘Iridesca is replicated entirely in Volgaris, but it has different, how shall we say, aspects.’

  I look towards Jules, searching for some crack, some inconsistency in what sounds like the ravings of a New Age mystic. But her face is impassive. The Chancellor might as well have been observing that the sky is blue for all she gives away.

  ‘All three worlds are interdependent —’

  ‘Three?’ I say, hoping I’ve just caught an inconsistency in his story.

  ‘Transcendence,’ he clarifies. ‘That’s the other one. The Shining Realm. It’s where we are only consciousness, unburdened by our corporeal bodies and any physical pain or constraint. Transcendence is our playground, a place of spiritual enlightenment. Humans can journey into Transcendence, but only with great discipline of mind.’ He smirks as if having a private joke with himself. ‘Humans are not known for their discipline of mind.’

  I remain silent. I’ve never had much time for religion or spiritual stuff. It always seemed like a luxury I couldn’t afford. Spirituality wasn’t going to fill my aching belly or keep me safe at night. I’ve never even considered the idea of other worlds. That parallel worlds exist just does my head in. What the Chancellor is telling me makes about as much sense as anything else – which is to say, none at all.

  I take a sip of my water and taste raspberries and honey. On reflex, I spit it out onto the shining oak tabletop.

  ‘It’s not poison,’ the Chancellor says, chuckling. He dries the table with a flick of his walking stick. ‘You have been away from us for too long, my dear.’

  ‘Away?’ I take another sip of the drink and swallow it as a gesture of goodwill.

  ‘You were born in Iridesca, my dear child, but were taken to live in Volgaris when you were a girl of three,’ says the Chancellor. ‘Many moons gone, Queen Cordelia, the ruler of Albion in Iridesca —’

  ‘Albion?’

  ‘It’s the name we give here in Iridesca to the land you know as Great Britain,’ he explains, before getting on with his story. ‘Queen Cordelia fell in love with a human. A scientist who, some would say, was too clever for his own good. Or should that be, too clever for our own good.’ He chuckles at his own joke and his eyebrow cocks expectantly, as if I’ll start laughing too.

  I just stare at him blankly, my jaw slightly dropped. I don’t see much to laugh about right now and I can’t bring myself to fake it.

  ‘While the Fae have always loved between the veil of the worlds, it is strictly forbidden to enter a more permanent union,’ he continues, regaining his composure. ‘The Queen did not simply wish to take Samuel Maxwell as her lover. Her wish was unprecedented, and the consequences far-reaching. Her Majesty Queen Cordelia believed that love should not be decided by committee and she defied the Order by marrying the human scientist.

  ‘The Queen’s union caused much disquiet. Most hoped that this relationship was just a dalliance of a young queen, that it would run its natural course and that in time a more suitable union could be made.’

  He pours himself a glass of the weird water, but he doesn’t drink it. ‘Two years later, a child was born from the union.’ The Chancellor stops again, like he’s waiting for me to say something. I don’t. Despite the bizarreness of his story, or perhaps because of it, I find myself engrossed, eager for him to continue.

  ‘Naturally, many Fae were enraged by the birth of the child. The Queen’s firstborn daughter, Francesca’ – he looks at me as if that name should mean something – ‘would be next in line to the Fae throne of Albion, but with a human father, her blood would not be pure. Some believed the throne should not pass to a mongrel child —’

  Out of the corner of my eye I notice Jules’s hands curl into fists.

  The Chancellor smiles at me. ‘“Mongrel child” is the rebels’ term, not mine. Alas, the Queen’s enemies led a rebellion against the Royal House.’ He lets out a deep sigh, seemingly lost in the tragedy of it all. ‘And your parents’ lives were lost.’

  Parents? Your parents?

  It finally dawns on me. He – they – think I’m Francesca.

  My doppelganger on the banners outside must be Francesca. I feel like I’m trespassing on someone else’s life, someone else’s pain. I need to put a stop to this little charade before things get even more out of hand.

  ‘Whoa, whoa,’ I say. ‘There’s been a mistake. I’m not who you think I am. My parents died when I was three. A boating accident. I’ve seen their death certificates and the reports from the newspapers.’

  The Chancellor looks at me, and then at Jules, as if considering his next move. I don’t know who’s in more trouble: Jules for getting the wrong girl or me for being the wrong girl.

  He lets out a sigh, more of resignation than of frustration or anger. ‘I was hoping that bringing you here and telling you all this would awaken your memory. The stories you heard about your parents? All fabricated, I’m afraid. A necessary precaution to hide your whereabouts.’

  He doesn’t pause long enough for me to respond.

  ‘Despite your mother’s marital … unorthodoxy, the Order – those of us who remain loyal to Queen Cordelia and her family, at any rate – feared the rebels would never be content with the removal of the Queen. We feared they would also come after you, so they could secure the throne for … one of their own.’

  I’m pretty sure he was about to say someone’s name but then thought better of it. Which is crazy, because it’s not like I’d know anybody he’s talking about anyway.

  ‘In the midst of the rebel attack, I spirited you from Iridesca and into hiding among the humans in Volgaris. For the last thirteen years we have allowed you to grow up a human, but now that you have come of age, you have a claim to your mother’s throne. And not a moment too soon. We can wait no longer for your return. The restoration is afoot.’

  It’s suddenly hard to breathe. I need to get out of here and away from these crazy people. I try to stand and run but my legs aren’t cooperating.

  ‘Your birth name is Francesca. You are Francesca, daughter of Cordelia,’ he says solemnly.

  ‘No, no … There’s been a mistake. My name is Chess,’ I protest, my voice raw and unsteady. I’ve forgotten so much of my childhood, but I wouldn’t have forgotten that. ‘The girl you’re looking for – we look exactly the same. But I’ve never been here.’

  ‘You are Francesca,’ the Chancellor insists. ‘When we hid you, we changed your name to Chess. That’s what your father used to call you. But we kept your surname on your fabricated birth records. Raven. You are Francesca of House Raven. A Raven is a protector, and a bringer of great magic,’ he adds, as if this somehow makes everything okay.

  ‘I thought it was the bird of death.’

  ‘That too,’ he says quietly. ‘A forewarning of war.’

  The corners of my mouth tighten and I feel my throat heave as if I’ve just swallowed a sock. Nausea and light-head
edness wash over me. My parents’ death has been the one fixed point in my life, the bedrock upon which everything, no matter how much it sucked, made some kind of sense. To have my past rewritten by a complete stranger with terrible dress sense who claims to know me better than I know myself infuriates me.

  None of it can be true. Fairies don’t exist.

  Do they?

  No. Fairies can’t exist.

  I take another sip of my drink and try to work out how to get out of this place. The sweetness and tang tickles my tongue. I wonder if it’s the water that’s affecting me, if they’ve spiked it with something.

  ‘Time is running out. For all of us.’ The Chancellor’s words come through a thick fog in my head. ‘War is coming, a war that will consume the realms. We have reports that rebel forces are growing daily. Even those who sided with the Order, who remained loyal to House Raven, are beginning to talk of appeasement. Unless you return to Iridesca to cement your claim as the Queen in the Ascendant and unify the Fae of Albion, I fear – for us all.’

  The Chancellor levels me with a piercing stare. ‘And so, Your Highness, we have brought you back to do your duty as heir to the Fae throne. Welcome home.’

  Silence.

  The dull sound of a clock chiming in the distance.

  The hum of air circulating in the high ceiling of the room.

  The crash of shattering crystal as my drink slips from my trembling hand.

  I stare at him, consumed by disgust. I don’t know why he’s trying to manipulate me. Or how he could do it in such a vile and despicable manner.

  He must know that this is every foster kid’s fantasy: that one day somebody realises that it’s all been a terrible mistake. You go from the aching emptiness of being nobody to suddenly becoming somebody. You matter, you’re not alone anymore, and for the first time in your life the frosty hole at the centre of your being is plugged.